


Eye of the Beholder

by linndechir



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Coming Untouched, Desk Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Spitroasting, Telepathic Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23738056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: Elias won't let being in prison and not speaking to Jon stop him from showing Jon all the things he'll do to him once he's back - or from sharing him with Peter.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims, Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 7
Kudos: 155
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winternacht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/gifts).



> I was so intrigued by your prompt for a threesome set during the time when Elias is still avoiding Jon, which my brain interpreted as a threesome for which Elias is not, technically, present. Or at least not physically present. I hope you enjoy the result! :D

“Ah, Jon, thank you for coming. So nice to finally meet you.”

Jon closed the door to Elias’ – now Peter’s – office behind himself, and refrained from pointing out that the reason they hadn’t met any earlier was that Peter Lukas was a very hard man to find. It had been months since he’d taken over the Institute and, as far as Jon could tell, nobody but Martin had met him in person. Until now, that was. He was standing behind Elias’ desk, a tall, imposing figure with a thick beard and a bland, friendly smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Jon already felt tired, and he wasn’t in the mood for whatever games Peter wanted to play. Because he doubted Peter had called him here to discuss Institute business.

“You wanted to see me?” Jon asked. He’d been in this office often enough when it had still been Elias’ – once upon a time for harmless budget meetings and performance reviews, later far more often to demand answers that weren’t forthcoming. And sometimes for reasons that had nothing to do with his job.

“Oh, yes, I did,” Peter replied. “I spoke to Elias today, you see, and he –”

“You saw him?” Jon interrupted. The compulsion came naturally to him these days, but he’d been starving himself to the point of exhaustion and it lacked the strength to get through the static crackle of nothingness that surrounded Peter like a cloud. He merely frowned, and Jon sighed. “So it’s just me he doesn’t want to talk to.”

“It is, actually,” Peter said, his tone and face right back to their previous cheerfulness. Jon didn’t know why he felt such a pang of hurt at that. He didn’t _want_ to talk to Elias. He was quite glad that Elias was gone, locked away in prison where he couldn’t do quite as much damage, even if Jon wasn’t sure yet if Peter Lukas was an improvement. And yet Elias was probably the only person in the world who knew even a fraction of the answers the the questions that tormented Jon. While Jon didn’t miss him, he certainly didn’t, Elias had provided him with the only distraction he’d had in far too long. 

“Did he have a message for me? Anything?” Jon asked, because there had to be a reason why Peter had interrupted his constant disappearing act to see him. If Elias had asked him to … maybe there was something Jon was finally meant to know. He was tired of stumbling through the dark without even knowing what he should be doing.

“No, no message,” Peter said happily, and Jon ground his teeth at the obvious delight he took in Jon’s disappointment. “From what I understand, he thinks you’ll figure it out all by yourself and know everything you need to know in time, and so on, and so forth. He seems quite taken with how your abilities are developing. But he did ask me to give you something.”

Jon looked up. A statement maybe. An envelope, a tape, or even just a name, a hint in the right direction so Jon could go and find out more for himself. He almost hoped it was the latter, an excuse to find some poor soul to feed the gnawing hunger in his mind. Peter’s hands were empty when he walked around the big desk, closer and closer until Jon took an instinctive step backwards, felt himself crowded against one of the book shelves. 

That’s when it started, that inexorable feeling of being watched. Not merely by Peter’s blue eyes – no, their gaze felt like it came from far away, like it looked right through Jon and barely bothered to notice him – but by a hundred, a thousand eyes all around him, staring into his very core. He knew Elias could be subtle, _was_ subtle most of the time. He hadn’t known Elias could be quite so obvious about it.

It distracted him enough that he barely saw it coming when Peter touched him – his large, cool hand brushing over Jon’s cheek and then cupping his chin, and before Jon could say a word he was being kissed. Slow and lingering, but so firmly he couldn’t quite extract himself from it. His lips parted underneath Peter’s tongue, released a soft gasp that was swallowed as soon as Peter kissed him more deeply. For a moment he felt as if he was floating in terrifying, beautiful emptiness, and then he flinched back.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped. But his back was still pressed against the shelves and Peter’s body was caging him in. When he met Jon’s eyes, it wasn’t only Peter looking at him.

“He mentioned I’d have to push you a bit,” Peter said, as if that was any explanation at all. He caressed Jon’s cheek tenderly, fingers stopping to pet one of the worm scars. A touch just like Elias’, lingering there even back when Jon hadn’t understood yet why Elias was so drawn to every mark on his body. Not that he understood all the reasons now, but at least it made somewhat more sense knowing who Elias was. More than just his boss, kissing him breathless in his office and pointedly ignoring Jon’s objections until Jon had melted into his touch, desperately yearning for more. The worst part was that Jon hadn’t stopped letting himself be drawn in once he’d known what Elias was. That, even now, he sometimes wished Elias was here to take his mind off the horrors that surrounded them. And it had been months since the last time he’d felt Elias’ touch on his skin. There certainly hadn’t been anyone else.

“I don’t care what he told you about me, I am not – we are not doing this,” Jon said. He put his hands on Peter’s chest to push him back, but he might just as well have tried to move a mountain. Peter laughed, and in the same moment a memory flashed through Jon’s mind – almost the same words uttered to Elias, what felt like a lifetime ago, mere minutes before Jon had kissed Elias back like a starving man.

“No? You see, he’s been quite lonely in his prison cell, which is why he asked me to come by in the first place, and then he showed me in some detail just what he would like to do to you if you were there.” Another image flashed through Jon’s mind, and he wasn’t sure if he simply Knew it or if Elias was putting it there – Elias and Peter in what looked like a far too comfortable prison cell, Peter’s thick arms wrapped around Elias’ slender frame, and a kiss so heated Jon could feel himself harden. “Wouldn’t you like to see?”

“I – what would you get out of that?” Jon asked. He didn’t trust Elias, but if anything he trusted Peter Lukas even less. He’d felt considerably safer getting ignored by him than now, under the gentle, firm touch of his hands. The smile that passed over Peter’s face made goosebumps rise on Jon’s arms.

“Apart from the obvious? Well, Elias may have been a little lonely, but you, Archivist?” Peter leant in, nosed at Jon’s neck, the soft skin below his ear, as if he was breathing him in. “You’re miserable, aren’t you? Your co-workers don’t trust you, they’re avoiding you even without my help. And you don’t really have anyone else because that’s how Elias likes them – he always had good taste like that. You’re so lonely you even miss him, no matter how much you think you should hate him.”

“I don’t,” Jon said weakly, but Elias’ gaze on him was almost like a physical caress, and since he couldn’t lean into it, he leant into Peter’s touch instead, and this time he didn’t object when Peter kissed him again. His kisses were nothing like Elias’ and yet there was an odd overlay of sensation, as if he were being kissed by two mouths at once, the scratch of Peter’s beard and the smoothness of Elias’ cheeks, and Jon felt dizzy with longing. He caught a whiff of Elias’ cologne – it wasn’t merely in his mind this time, no, but clinging to Peter’s skin where Elias must have touched him earlier. How long ago had that been? An hour? Less? Would he still be able to taste Elias’ sweat on Peter’s skin?

“He’ll want to see you,” Peter said, as if Elias couldn’t already see all of Jon, couldn’t already see into him and through him. So it mattered little when Peter undressed him, baring him to the countless eyes around them, cool fingers gently redrawing the flaying marks on Jon’s back. 

“They sure did a number on you, Archivist,” Peter went on. He was so _talkative_ , when Jon would have expected him to be curt and monosyllabic, and yet it didn’t really feel like he was talking _to_ Jon. Merely like he happened to be talking, and Jon’s presence wasn’t really required for that. Something tingled at the back of Jon’s mind, some vague notion that there was Knowledge to find here, that Peter knew something Jon wanted to find out, but when he tried to press at it, his head started aching again, kept aching until he gave up and merely gave himself over to Peter’s hands, to the cheerful, calm droning of his voice. “Elias keeps calling you beautiful. Can’t say I see what he sees, and he’s usually a little shallow, but I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Peter stepped back then, his hands sliding off Jon’s naked body, leaving him feeling cold and empty and with such an overwhelming sensation of loss that he almost stumbled from it. He wanted to blame Peter and the Lonely for that, but in truth he knew that he had longed for Elias’ touch if nothing else about him. His slender hands caressing Jon like he was something precious, something to be cherished even as he kept pushing him again and again into the maws of monsters. His lips as they mapped every scar on Jon’s body, his eyes bright with an all-encompassing desire Jon wasn’t sure anyone else had ever felt for him. It was terrifying, to be desired as completely as Elias desired him.

“How do you want him, hm?” Peter asked into the room, and Jon knew he wasn’t the one being asked. Again his mind saw things his eyes couldn’t – Elias reclining on the bed in his cell, eyes intent and that unbearable smirk on his face. His eyes met Jon’s, his own eyes this time, and the sight of him after so long made Jon’s cock twitch.

“He knows which way I like him best,” Elias said into his empty cell, the words soft as silk in Jon’s mind. In Peter’s, too, judging by his laugh. He ran his fingers over Jon’s back, a comforting, soothing touch that failed to do either. And Jon didn’t – he couldn’t … It was embarrassing enough that he’d let Elias fuck him on his desk like some tawdry office affair. It was embarrassing enough that he’d bent over for him even after he’d known that Elias was a murderer. That it only got him harder when Elias told him what to do, how he wanted him – the only kind of certainty he offered Jon in an ocean of non-answers.

It was bad enough without involving Peter Lukas in it, without letting another person see him like this, feel him like this. And yet Jon didn’t want to walk away. He was quite certain that Peter would have let him – leaving him to stew in his lonely misery and laughing to himself – but really, what did he have to lose? His dignity? There wasn’t much left of that either way, not where Elias was concerned.

So he let the heavy palm on the small of his back guide him over to Elias’ desk, and he didn’t need to be pushed down before he bent over it slowly. Shifted to adjust himself a little, to find a halfway comfortable position, as comfortable as he could be with his arse in the air. A hundred pairs of eyes raked over him, and in that intensity the coolness of Peter’s gaze felt almost comforting. 

“Look at you,” Peter said, still sounding as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. “He has taught you well, hasn’t he? I really thought I’d have to do more convincing, but there you are …” 

Jon shuddered in shame and worse, in arousal, because it was true, wasn’t it? He bit back a moan when Peter’s thick fingers spread his cheeks, two minds looking down greedily through Peter’s eyes, feasting on Jon’s shaking, displayed body. He was painfully hard against the sleek wood of the desk, and not only because of all the memories he associated with lying here like this. Elias’ hands touching his arse, gently at first, then a playful slap, then a merciless spanking until Jon had been almost sobbing. Disciplinary action for his rudeness to statement givers, Elias had said, and they’d pretended it hadn’t been for both their pleasure. And then there had been all the other times Elias had fucked him slowly right here on this desk, his hand covering Jon’s mouth to keep him quiet so Rosie wouldn’t hear what they were doing behind the locked door of Elias’ office. Jon wasn’t too concerned about anyone hearing him now. With Peter Lukas here, he probably could have screamed for help and nobody would have heard.

As Peter’s fingers started rubbing over Jon’s hole, another sensation appeared and hit him with such sudden intensity that it shook him to the core. It wasn’t a memory of his own experiences this time, but something new. Soft kisses on his neck, Elias’ lips, ghosting down towards his chest, and then a gentle bite on his nipple. There was something strange about the sensation, something foggy and hazy, and it took Jon a few moments to realise that what Elias was putting in his mind were in fact memories, but _Peter’s_ , all the sensations he had felt earlier today in Elias’ cell. Elias’ lips kissing every inch of his body, and they lingered on every scar that hadn’t been there on Peter’s skin but marred Jon’s, as if Elias had memorised Jon’s body perfectly. Maybe he had. Maybe he had watched Jon while he’d been with Peter.

Jon’s own eyes fluttered shut. He was dimly aware that Peter had brought lube, that his fingers were slick when they pushed into Jon, and still Elias was kissing him. His thighs now, nuzzling and biting him gently to make him shudder back against Peter’s touch.

Peter was still talking, but his voice seemed to come from so very far away. It was quite gentle still – telling Jon that he didn’t look so bad like this after all, that he was doing very well, taking Peter’s fingers as he pushed them deeper and deeper, that he made such pretty little sounds. Gentle words, utterly meaningless and as far away as Elias was. And yet Jon still felt Elias’ hands in his hair, and he moved into that phantom touch, letting his head be pulled up a little, tensing up just as Peter rubbed the tip of his cock against his hole. It didn’t feel quite right – Peter’s hair had a different texture than Jon’s, and Elias hadn’t grabbed it quite as hard as he would have grabbed Jon’s, but if there’s one thing the human mind is good at, it’s erasing the discrepancies in what it perceives.

“You’re doing so very well, Jon,” he heard again, and this time he wasn’t sure whose voice it was, only that it felt like a gentle balm on his exhausted soul. Behind his closed eyes he saw Elias still in his prison cell, slender fingers touching himself, but what he felt was Elias’ cock against his lips – against Peter’s lips. Jon smelt his familiar scent and felt a thin echo of Peter’s amused delight at teasing Elias a little, at making him wait for it, until Elias had lost his patience and yanked on his hair _Jon’s head snapping up_ and shoved Peter’s mouth open with his thumb _Jon’s lips parting of their own accord_ and then pushed his cock into his mouth without giving him time to adjust _Jon’s lips stretching around an imagined intrusion, the memory of Elias’ taste covering his tongue, and then just as he gagged because it was too much_ –

Peter’s cock slid into him, slowly but inexorably, stretching Jon so wide open that it should have hurt far more than it did. He was much bigger than Elias, so slick that he opened him up easily, and for the first time in months Jon didn’t feel so … abandoned. It was invasive, and uncomfortable, and maddeningly good.

“He’s really messing with your head, isn’t he?” Peter’s voice sounded almost sympathetic, though maybe that was just the breathlessness in it. He rubbed Jon’s back gently, made him relax against the desk as Jon took his cock. Jon could have answered, he supposed, since his mouth was technically unoccupied, but it would have felt strange, to talk around the sensation of Elias’ cock between his lips. He felt more than saw the smug amusement in Elias’ gaze on them, watching them, and then Peter gasped loudly, hips snapping forward as he drove deep into Jon’s body. Jon briefly wondered what it was Elias had shown him, but then he couldn’t think anymore at all as Peter’s cock drove him down against the desk, too hard and too fast and Jon couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d have bruises on his hips later, but he quite liked the idea of having some marks on his body that had been caused by pleasure.

Peter’s hand had moved up to his hair, the real sensation of his fingers pulling on it overlapping with that of Elias’ firm grip. It was too much, and Jon wanted to beg them both to stop, but instead he merely lapped at a cock that wasn’t there, yearning for a taste he wasn’t sure he was merely imagining. Peter stroked his head, his neck, and then his broad palm came to rest on Jon’s throat, holding him firmly in place while Elias’ cock _the memory of it, of Peter gagging a little around it and yet pulling him closer_ thrust deeper into Jon’s mouth. And just as Jon thought he couldn’t bear it anymore, that it was already far more than his mind could process, Peter’s hand clamped down on his throat.

At first Jon merely gasped for breath, but soon black dots began dancing in front of his eyes, appearing and disappearing in the relentless rhythm of Peter’s thrusts inside him, and then the darkness grew and grew, a blurriness at the edge of his vision, his own sight giving out even as he was being watched from all sides, Elias’ eyes flaying him open as Jon floated in an ocean of _too much don’t stop please not enough_.

“You’re doing so well, Jon,” and this time the voice was unmistakably Elias’. Jon didn’t hear it so much as _Know_ it. “It’s all right – you really need to stop holding back.”

Jon came with a strangled gasp, his vision finally blacking out as his orgasm was all but torn from him, his cock twitching untouched against the wood of Elias’ desk, the same desk he’d come on so many times before. As if through a haze he felt Peter’s other hand tightening on his hip, heard his quiet moans, felt the stutter in his rhythm as he came inside Jon. And then Jon drifted off into something like unconsciousness, or maybe a dream, or maybe more images poured into his unresisting mind by Elias’ greedy eyes. His mouth was filled with the taste of Elias’ come, and then there was the familiar way Elias always liked to rub his cock over Jon’s (or was it still Peter’s?) cheek afterwards, leaving a mess he’d then kiss away moments later, tender lips moving over Peter’s beard and Jon’s own stubbly cheek at the same time.

When Jon’s vision cleared and his mind felt like his own again, he was still draped over the desk, his knees weak, come trickling down his thigh as Peter pulled out of him. The sensation of being watched had retreated a little, but Jon had no doubt that Elias was still following their every movement. 

Peter stroked his back again, down over his spine until his fingers brushed over Jon’s used hole, and Jon whimpered when he pushed two of them back inside.

“Elias really didn’t exaggerate. I told him I wasn’t sure if you could take me, but he was so convinced that you could. ‘Not much my Archivist can’t take these days, Peter, I think he can handle your cock just fine.’” It wasn’t a bad impression of Elias’ intonation, Jon thought dimly, and he Knew that Elias was smiling to himself in his cell – smug and satisfied, his spent cock softening in his hand. Jon moaned when Peter’s fingers kept playing with him, gathering up the trickled down come to shove it back inside him. The same embarrassment he’d successfully forgotten about while Peter had been inside him rushed back now, as Jon couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like – used, fucked, spread open like this. No sooner had the question occurred to him that Elias helpfully provided a view, through Peter’s eyes, of Jon’s sprawled out body, open and almost eager to be seen. 

“God, stop that,” he mumbled, and they both ignored him. 

“Truth be told, Jon, I think Elias wanted to show you off a bit. He hasn’t been able to shut up about you for months and I’ve got to admit he eventually got me a little curious. I still don’t really see the ‘beautiful’ part, but … eye of the beholder, eh?” Peter laughed to himself, and whatever Jon had wanted to reply was forgotten when a third finger was pushed into him. It was too much when he felt so sore, and yet he dreaded the idea of Peter stopping and leaving him alone like this.

“Once Elias is done with his little prison vacation, and once he’s willing to be in the same room with you again … I might let him talk me into doing this again. Properly. If he ever manages to win one of our wagers.”

Jon bit back a whimper because this had already been more than he could bear – though maybe having Elias actually present would make it less overwhelming. Maybe Elias would have stayed out of his head if he’d been actually here to touch him. Peter’s fingers were relentlessly pushing against Jon’s prostate as if he’d decided Jon wasn’t already overwhelmed enough, but he was certainly too weak to try and squirm away from his touch.

“Maybe I’ll see how good your mouth is while he fucks you,” Peter pondered, and again Jon got the feeling that he wasn’t really talking to him. Maybe just to himself, or maybe to Elias, as if they were casually discussing how best to share Jon when they got the chance. Jon wanted to be more offended by it, but his mind was foggy, and this was by far the least bad thing he’d ever had two avatars do to him. “Or we could both have you just like this, fuck you together, although he might have to train you a bit better for that still.”

Jon protested weakly because Peter had already been more than he thought he could take, Peter and Elias at the same time, that would be … too much, just like Peter’s fingers were far too much. He moaned softly when Peter wrung another orgasm out of him, a weak, desperate thing as Jon added to the mess on the desk. He couldn’t take it anymore, and if Elias were actually here in person, Jon had no doubt that they’d use him until he passed out. The thought wasn’t half as unappealing as it should have been. When Peter finally pulled out of him, wiping his fingers half-heartedly on the back of Jon’s thigh before he stepped back, Jon’s legs gave out and he slowly slid to the floor.

He felt so worn out he could have fallen asleep right then and there, and his mind still felt hazy from having too many sensations dumped into it. At least Elias seemed to be staying out of it now, allowing Jon to focus on his own body again – the soreness where Peter had fucked him a bit too hard, the bruises on his hips, the ache in his throat from being choked. He felt _good_ and not for the first time he wondered what was wrong with him that he did. He would have liked to put it on all the other ways in which he’d been changing, turning into something less than human, but he’d wanted Elias long before. And he probably would have let Elias invite his … friend or whatever the hell Peter Lukas was to him along even back then, because he’d never been very good at saying no to Elias.

When he finally looked up, there was no one but him in the office. He hadn’t heard Peter leave, though of course that meant nothing. He was simply gone, leaving behind a desolate emptiness that made Jon shiver more than the cool air. He tried to take some comfort in the fact that Elias would still be watching him – that Elias was _always_ watching him – but even that feeling was receding more and more until Jon was quite sure he was only imagining it. Because Elias was still far away (which, Jon reminded himself, was still a good thing), and he was still not speaking to Jon, and even if he were, he’d probably find entirely new ways not to give him any bloody answers.

But Peter … Peter clearly knew something, and he’d made it sound like Elias planned to return eventually. Jon had no doubt that wouldn’t bode well for any of them, but at least then he’d finally get another chance to ask him, to try and make Elias tell him what he needed to know.

For now, though, Jon was alone. His body ached with how thoroughly it had been used, still bore the marks from it, and yet for all the gentleness of Peter’s touch, for all the heaviness of Elias’ gaze, Jon didn’t feel comforted or reassured. Because whatever Elias had done to him, whatever he would still do to him in the future, for the time being, Jon was alone.


End file.
